Black Powder and Razor Claws
by Valiox
Summary: While most of humanity has died, turned, or gone mad in the wake of the Infection. A select few have learned to not only survive, but thrive. Yet, times change. HunterXHuman, MxM.


The skies over the city were a dreary, cloudy grey, the same as they always were, and always had been since the Infection broke out. Rain poured down lightly onto the permanently-wet streets, soaking the clothes of groaning Commons who didn't have the sense to move anywhere else. It was almost like the heavens themselves were weeping for the crumbled civilizations below, a poetic notion that made the Hunter grunt a bit in his crouched position atop an old parking garage. He cautiously pulled back the hood of his black hoodie, glancing around to ensure that the daylight, however shrouded by the clouds, wouldn't hurt his finely tuned eyes. He absentmindedly scratched at his wrist, grimacing as a claw ran across a fresh knife wound that had been left by a crazed survivor. He had prided himself on never killing for food or sport unless he absolutely had to, and even then, he tried to stick to assassinating the survivors whose minds had broken under the stress of the new world.

That's what it was, the Hunter sighed inwardly. A new world. A vast section of the human populace had been turned into murderous, raging beasts, leaving the rest scrambling to simply survive day by day. Fortunately, by the grace of a God nobody on Earth could really believe in anymore, the Hunter had kept his senses even as his body warped and changed. He looked down at a small pool of water on the concrete roof, his face contorting as he beheld what he was; his claw-like fingernails, razor-sharp teeth, and brilliant green eyes with catlike slits for pupils. His face was sort of soft, and he was shorter than average - though he wouldn't quite know, since he spent most of his time crouching. Zipped up around his chest and limbs was his comfortable black hoodie, light and soft. He made sure to keep it clean as much as one could without running water or even a stable shelter, and so it had held up nicely. He kept the wrists and elbows taped down to keep himself as aerodynamic as possible while sprinting or leaping, and the same applied to the cuffs of his jeans. His feet were covered by lightweight hiking boots - waterproof, durable, and rather comfortable.

He blinked as the rain continued to disturb the puddle. He had a sneaking suspicion that the color of his eyes, almost the opposite of the typical blazing red, was related somehow to his remaining humanity, but he was no scientist. They still glowed brightly, like most Hunters' did, but the unusual color made him a target to both survivors and, on occasion, the other Infected. He had been mistaken for a human on one occasion by another overzealous Hunter, and had been forced to put down the rabid beast. He spent many hours that night trying to reconcile what he had done with his still-human nature, and made up his mind that he had to kill in self-defense or be killed himself. He still found his stomach twisting painfully when he thought of the incident; the doomed Hunter's eyes had flashed with what seemed like terror before his opponent delivered the coup de grâce.

He sighed outwardly this time, casting his blazing eyes out over the cityscape. It had been Seattle once, before all of the madness caused by the Infection, but it didn't feel right calling it that now, considering the sorry state it was in. Buildings had been ransacked, glass and garbage littered the streets, abandoned cars waited for owners that would never return. The Hunter looked down to see two Commons beating the snot out of each other, and disgust crossed his face as one simply smashed the other's head against the street until nothing recognizable remained. He turned his back, starting back toward the other edge of the rooftop, before a single gunshot rang out, clear and loud, through the streets. The Hunter turned again, just barely peering over the edge so he couldn't be seen by the shooter.

A boy, probably around nineteen or twenty, tucked a silver revolver into a holster at his waist, the victorious Common from a few moments ago laying dead beside his former foe. The boy laughed, a sound the Hunter wasn't used to, and he flinched just a tad. Sweeping a hand through his head of wet, dirty blonde hair, the boy pulled a map from his pocket and began looking around, matching buildings to those seen on the paper in his hands. The Hunter watched with curiosity. The gunshot had pulled the attention of the remaining few roaming Commons on the street, and the Hunter shut his eyes, not willing to watch them tear the boy apart. There were another four quick, loud bangs, and the muffled sounds of bodies hitting the asphalt. The Hunter's eyes sprang open in surprise to see the boy reading his map once more, completely nonchalant, four bodies at his feet with holes in their chests or heads.

The boy nodded, seemingly satisfied with his chosen path, and pulled his leather coat tighter around his shoulders before starting off toward a deeper part of downtown. The concentration of the Infected was much higher there, and while the boy seemed to be well-armed and certainly skilled, he would be walking into a death-trap alone, with a limited supply of ammunition. The Hunter had made up his mind before he even realized it. He lowered himself and silently jumped over to the next rooftop, fully intending to follow this human. Something was very different about him. Most survivors were mad, and a good few were completely insane. But this survivor, who appeared to be barely of age, was strolling down the wet street as casually as if he was going to visit the farmer's market. A wounded Common hissed at him from the gutter, and the boy barely stopped to look at it before brutally stomping its face in, ending it instantly. The Hunter cringed. He was so young to be employing such ruthless violence - not that the Hunter was any older. He had lost track of his true age, along with his name. It hadn't been used in months.

The two continued through the winding streets, albeit a fair bit apart. The Hunter took extreme caution to not attract the boy's attention, leaping silently from roof to roof. and hiding behind cars and other obstacles when the buildings began to get too tall. The boy stuck to the shadows as much as he could, drawing little attention and staying out of the rain, and the few Commons that noticed him were quickly dispatched by the stroke of a small blade the human carried in the inside pocket of his leather coat. The Hunter began to wonder how the boy was so effective with weaponry. The humans he had seen had been quick to panic, spraying and praying and generally attracting way more commotion than they would have if they had just stayed in the shadows, like this strange boy. But this human seemed to know exactly what he was doing. His attacks were violent and ruthless, but effective, wasting no more time and energy than required. The Hunter felt a strange pang as he realized that they had this in common. His will to follow the boy and figure out his plan only strengthened.

As they rounded a corner, the Hunter felt a chilling presence before he heard, saw, or smelled it. The boy froze as well, his ears perking up as they heard a series of quiet sobs that nonetheless seemed to echo through the streets. Kneeling in the center of the road, nothing around her but overturned cars, sat one of the terrifying female Infected with claws like straight razors, caked with blood and grime. Wrapped in nothing but a white, tattered tank-top and what appeared to be panties, she continued to sob morosely even as the boy reloaded his pistol, eyes locked on her petite frame. Perhaps he was brave, perhaps he was stupid, or perhaps he had never encountered one of her kind before, but the Hunter knew that he stood no chance alone. He had seen the creature tear through twenty Commons in five seconds after being disturbed. He had to do something.

The Hunter let out a low, menacing growl, just loud enough for the human to hear without being loud enough to disturb the sobbing Infected. The boy narrowed his eyes, realizing that he was beset on both sides, and backed up a few steps very slowly. Hidden from sight behind an overturned minivan, the Hunter went silent again. He watched through the minivan's windows as the boy shook his head, looking back at the female Infected and taking aim. Acting hastily, the Hunter flung himself powerfully over the top of the vehicle and tore through the air, coming down hard on the boy and ripping the knife out of his leather jacket. He rolled forward, springing through the shattered window of a store and taking cover as a bullet barely missed the back of his head. He ducked back down, clenching the leather handle of the knife until he felt it imprinting in his palm. The boy got up, clearly shaken, and fired a bullet at the woman in the street, missing her by an inch. With a bloodcurdling scream and impossible agility she rose to her feet, sprinting after the survivor with her claws flailing madly. The boy turned and ran for his life, firing behind him as best he could, but missing each time.

Knowing that this was the chance he had hoped for, the Hunter sprang back out of the window and vaulted off another overturned vehicle, running along the rooftops parallel to the crazed Infected and her prey. His enhanced physiology had made him resilient and quick, as comfortable doing endurance runs as he was with short sprints. Flipping the knife in his hand so that the blade pointed down, he pounced with a screech that would have rivaled any feral Hunter. The clawed female never saw him coming before he landed atop her, tackling her to the ground and planting the length of the steel blade in the back of her neck. She immediately went still, arms splayed out on the wet concrete as the rain continued to fall lightly.

Satisfied, the Hunter heard the click of a revolver being cocked and looked up, slowly raising his hands. Confusion and determination were written across the boy's face in equal measures. His trigger finger faltered as he looked into the Hunter's blazing green eyes. "Your eyes," he murmured, his voice matching his relative age. "I've never...I've never seen one of you monsters with eyes that color." He shook his head, shooing away the thought and tightened his grip on his weapon.

"Don't shoot," the Hunter growled as non-threateningly as he could, his eyes never leaving the barrel of the gun. He saw the shock spread across the human's face like a wildfire, and the gun once again began to tremble slightly.

"So you can talk now, huh?" The boy said viciously. He spat his words with hate and bile, fury replacing the surprise in his expression. "Don't think that'll save you! I know better than to trust one of you monsters!" He summoned his resolve and squeezed the trigger; it clicked. The six-shooter was empty, and the survivor swore. He could reload, but that would leave him completely open to an attack from the much quicker Hunter. The Infected sighed, pulling the knife cleanly from the dead woman's neck and sending it skittering across the wet asphalt toward the survivor, who picked it up with a bit of hesitance and slid it back into his coat. With reluctance, he slid his gun into its holster, his eyes still not leaving the Hunter's. "So, what? You're not gonna kill me?" The Hunter shook his head. "Is this some kind of trick?!" The Hunter shook his head again, moving away from the dead woman slowly so as to not alarm the boy.

"I...can...show you...way out," the Hunter growled, his voice gravelly from disuse. He had been lucky to retain his ability to speak, but he had never really thought he would need to use it again. Most survivors simply shot anything that looked Infected. He had never planned to be actually communicating with a human. "Garage," he manage to get out, pointing a few roads over. "Cars...there."

The boy glared daggers at the Hunter. "And how do I know this isn't just a trap? You could be luring me to your Infected buddies for an easy kill."

The Hunter smiled, his lips curling around his pointed teeth. "You...have gun." That seemed to put the survivor at ease. He still seemed tense, and the Hunter could indeed smell the fear coming off him, but he was no longer actively hostile. A good start.

"Fine. What's your name then? Or do you even have one?" The boy snorted derisively. The Hunter ignored it, trying to recall what he had been called once upon a time.

"J...Juh..." He growled out, trying to speak and think at the same time; it wasn't working quite well. The boy raised an eyebrow as the Hunter practically hacked up syllables like hairballs. "Jahhh..."

"...Jack?" The survivor finished for him. The Hunter nodded. "Alright. Jack it is. I'm Luka."

The Hunter nodded again, feeling the syllables in his mouth rather than saying them out loud at first. Luka. It was a young-sounding name. Fit for someone innocent and wide-eyed, not cold and ruthless like the boy was...or was trying to be. "Luka," he repeated. It was a nice name. It would do. He turned, prowling down the street on all fours, as he was comfortable with. He heard the human's footsteps behind him, sneakers hitting the wet asphalt as the rain drizzled against the awnings above them.


End file.
